AI The air, impossibly, became thicker, as if wading through warm honey . Not heavy, not suffocating, but dense with a thousand competing scents that flooded Aurora’s senses the moment the Veil rippled open. One step slid her from the cool, damp London night into something else entirely. She stumbled, catching herself mid-air before her feet found purchase on a surface unlike any she’d ever known. It felt less like solid earth and more like compressed velvet , dark and yielding beneath her boots.
Above, the sky was a vast, unbroken sheet of warm amber, a perpetual twilight that cast everything in a burnished glow. There was no sun, no moon, just this immense, overarching color that vibrated with suppressed sound. Nyx, a shadow made manifest, seemed to flow rather than step through the shimmering portal beside her. Their faintly glowing violet eyes surveyed the new landscape, unblinking, unreadable . Isolde, a wisp of silver hair and pale lavender eyes, followed, her form so light she left no disturbance on the strange, spongy ground. Her long silver hair, reaching her waist, seemed to catch the amber light as if spun from it.
“Welcome, Rory,” Isolde’s voice, a soft chime, floated on the suddenly alive air, “to where desire finds no end.”
Aurora said nothing, her throat tight with awe and a sudden, sharp jolt of unease. Her bright blue eyes widened , trying to take it all in. Dymas. Gluttony. The names whispered through her mind, but they did little to prepare her for the reality.
Giant, fleshy blossoms, impossibly vibrant in hues of magenta and gold, unfurled from thick, muscular vines that snaked across the landscape. The vines themselves seemed to pulse with a slow, organic rhythm, fat as a man's thigh and covered in a fine, almost imperceptible fuzz. Fruits dangled from them – some the size of gourds, others smaller than Aurora’s fist, but all radiating an intoxicating sheen. They were a riot of colors: obsidian black, iridescent emerald, deep amethyst, all ripening, splitting, oozing fragrant juices that dripped onto the velvet -like soil, which seemed to drink it in, swelling slightly as it absorbed the sustenance. The overall impression was one of obscene fertility, a world perpetually pregnant with abundance.
The Heartstone Pendant, nestled against Aurora’s sternum, throbbed with a steady, insistent warmth . Not searing, but a deep, resonant pulse that mirrored her own racing heart. Its crimson glow, usually faint, was now a definite inner fire, echoing the amber sky. She instinctively clutched it, her fingers brushing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit from childhood.
A scent, rich and complex , permeated everything. It was a dizzying blend of overripe fruit, sweet resin, something cloyingly floral, and a distant, almost imperceptible tang of fermentation. It wasn't unpleasant, not exactly, but it was *too much *. Like standing in a colossal, enchanted bakery where every oven baked simultaneously.
“The air,” Aurora managed, her voice a little breathy . “It’s…sweet.”
"Sweet until it cloys," Nyx's voice whispered, a current of wind stirred into sound, barely audible above the low thrum of the realm. "This soil is not naturally kind. It is fed."
Aurora looked down at the dark, springy ground. It wasn't moss, not exactly. More like a carpet of crushed jewel-toned leaves and velvety fungi, all intertwined, absorbing everything that fell. She knelt, digging a finger into the strange loam. It felt warm, surprisingly moist, and left a shimmering dust on her skin, like pollen mixed with fine glitter. She rubbed it off, suddenly feeling alien and fragile in this place of rampant, aggressive life.
They began to move deeper, following a path that wasn't really a path, but merely a slightly less dense area of the colossal flora. Every step felt like an indulgence, the soft ground cushioning their movement, the air thick with promises. Towering trees, their trunks spiraling upwards like gargantuan corkscrews, bore leaves of burnished gold and rust-red, casting no true shade but simply filtering the constant amber light into warmer, deeper hues. From their branches hung lanterns of woven bioluminescent reeds, casting pools of softer, pulsing light that seemed to breathe with the realm .
Aurora reached out, drawn by the allure of a trailing vine laden with berries. They were the color of twilight, shifting from deep indigo to violet, each pearl-sized globe glowing faintly from within. They looked utterly delicious. Her fingers grazed them, the skin surprisingly rough, like ancient parchment.
"Tempting, aren't they?" Isolde observed, her voice as smooth as polished river stones. "But the bounty here is not always what it seems. A flavor for a secret truth, a sweetness for a slow decay."
Aurora pulled her hand back, a prickle of caution overriding her initial fascination. She glanced at Isolde, the Half-Fae’s pale lavender eyes, ancient and knowing, holding no judgment, only observation. Isolde’s words were always riddles, but they tasted of truth.
Nyx, meanwhile, had paused near a cluster of what looked like enormous, exotic mushrooms, their caps broader than dinner tables, painted with intricate swirls of crimson and cream. They didn't grow from the ground but rather seemed to sprout from the side of a massive, upturned root, as if the entire landscape was one living, intertwined organism. Nyx’s shadow form rippled slightly , their gaze fixed on the fungi.
"These are not inert," Nyx spoke, their voice barely a rustle . "They consume."
Aurora watched, and as she did, one of the larger mushrooms seemed to swell imperceptibly, its rich, earthy scent intensifying. A faint, almost gurgling sound emanated from its base, like a satisfied digestive system. The wonder of the place began to curdle into something a little grotesque. Every beautiful, abundant thing here seemed to have a hidden hunger, a purpose beyond simply existing.
They continued, the landscape shifting almost imperceptibly with each turn. The giant vines gave way to sprawling orchards, where trees bore fruits of unimaginable shapes. One looked like a cluster of polished jade eggs, another like iridescent pearls strung along a branch. The ground grew stickier here, slick with fallen, fermenting fruit, adding a sharp, alcoholic tang to the air. Butterflies, their wings the size of a human hand and patterned like stained glass, fluttered drunkenly through the air, drawn by the intoxicating sweetness.
Aurora found herself clutching the Fae-Forged Blade at her hip, its cold, moonsilver hilt a stark contrast to the oppressive warmth of Dymas. It was a tangible anchor to another world, a reminder that not everything here was edible or inviting. She felt a profound sense of overwhelm, a visceral understanding of 'Gluttony' not just as a sin, but as a physical force, a relentless drive to consume and produce, endlessly.
Ahead, the flora thinned, revealing what looked like a clearing . But even the clearing was not clear. Instead, it was dominated by a colossal, tiered structure , half-hidden by vines and ancient, gnarled trees. It seemed to be carved from the very fabric of Dymas, dark purple stone streaked with gold, glowing faintly from within. Columns, thick and ornate, supported overhanging balconies where more bioluminescent lanterns swayed. From this grand structure , a rich, savory scent wafted towards them, hinting at roasted meats and exotic spices, cutting through the prevailing sweetness.
"A feast," Nyx noted, their form momentarily solidifying into sharper angles, their violet eyes narrowed slightly .
Isolde smiled, a small, knowing upturn of her lips. "The Prince of Gluttony keeps a lavish house. They say his kitchens never sleep, nor do his guests." Her footpads left no impression on the rich, dark soil, as if she merely grazed the surface of the world.
Aurora felt a shiver , despite the warmth . The thought of endless feasting, here in this place of eternal excess, was suddenly deeply unsettling. It wasn't just physical hunger this place indulged, but something far deeper, far more insidious. She imagined countless hands reaching, grasping, devouring. A sense of a profound , unquenchable emptiness disguised by overflowing abundance settled heavy in her gut. She glanced at the Heartstone, its crimson glow unwavering , pulsing in rhythm with the unnatural heart of Dymas. This was Hel. And she was standing on its banquet table.